Angel
by Hanakosong
Summary: AU where the Winchester boys lose their mother but their father resorts to alcohol and abuse instead of hunting. Six-year-old Dean tries to protect Sammy as much as he can but even Dean can't hold on forever. But when he meets another little boy as mysterious as he is, Dean thinks maybe he will be able to make it out alive. [T for child abuse and alcohol use; young!Destiel.]
1. Nightmares

That night, that horrible night when the flames engulfed the house, when everything in the Winchester's world was spun on it's head and doomed for worse.

John had no idea what had happened, but he had rushed into little Sammy's room after hearing Mary's scream. But Sammy had been lying peacefully in his crib, cooing as only babies do. But just one look up at the ceiling and the fragile veil of peace shattered.

Mary had been inexplicably plastered to the ceiling, a long bloody gash across her stomach, staining her white nightgown. Her face was horribly frozen in mid-scream giving her a grotesque demeanor.

"Mary!" John mumbled, thrashing under the sheets of his bed, tangling his limbs in the linen. "Mary!" he cried out, shooting up into a sitting position, his green eyes dancing wildly with madness.

John's head whipped around to look at the space beside him. As usual after every nightmare, the spot next to him remained vacant and cold. Despair overwhelmed him and John dropped his head into his hands, feeling his sweat slick forehead slide against his fingers. His breath hitched in his chest as images of Mary flashed across the backs of his eyelids. John huffed out a heavy breath, trying to mask a sob that was trapped in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

John untangled himself from the sweaty sheets and stumbled from his bed towards the hallway. He gripped the banister for the stairs in his sweaty hands, sliding along the polished wood. He cursed softly, remembering his two sleeping sons just down the hall, grateful that his cry hadn't already woken the boys. He stepped cautiously down onto the first step, testing his balance on the precarious decline. John was able to make it down the steps without falling headfirst and he worked his way through the house to the kitchen.

Fumbling with the light switch, John blinked against the harsh artificial light that flooded the kitchen once he had found the switch. The yellow glare contrasted against the pitch black 3 a.m. skies outside the window over the sink. John shook his head and rubbed at his sleep blurred eyes as he made his way over to the fridge.

John swung open the door, feeling the rush of cool air on his face as it was released into the kitchen. He sighed and started to dig around the shelves, trying not to allow the contents to clatter too much in an attempt to be quiet.

John soon found what he was searching for, gripping the neck of the familiar brown bottle in his palm and pulling back from the cold of the fridge. John shut the door and before turning away, found his gaze caught on a recent picture of his family, pinned up with a magnet on the fridge door.

It was a picture of the day he and Mary had brought Sammy home from the hospital. Mary was cradling Sammy in his blanket bundle, smiling happily and her eyes shining as Dean perched on the arm of the couch next to her, grinning like the proudest brother in the world. John had been behind the camera, grinning from ear to ear as the photo was snapped.

John sighed heavily and turned away, finding himself nose to nose with Mary. John gasped and stumbled back, ramming into the fridge painfully. John rubbed his eyes feverishly and the looked around again in a frenzy. Mary was gone. John turned back to look at the picture on the fridge, the sense of longing pulling fiercely at his heart.

John felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes and went to wipe them as his vision began to blur. John turned away from the photo again and popped the cap off of his bottle, tossing it halfheartedly onto the counter with a soft clink of metal meeting the granite countertop. John leaned against the nearby kitchen table and lifted the bottle to his lips, tasting the cold edge of the rim before the bittersweet alcohol rushed into his mouth. John sighed through his nose as he lowered the bottle to swallow.

The memory of Mary's death kept replaying over and over again across John's mind's eye as he stood with his bottle in hand. Each time it replayed, it became more and more gruesome, more and more unbearable. But just when John was sure the terror would reach its climax and break him, the affects of his late night drink began to take effect and it soon became a broken memory, only bits and pieces floating through John's subconscious.

The alcohol was soon gone down John's throat and he was left holding an empty bottle and the beginning of the sweet feeling of release. In his subconscious, John knew that it wasn't real and it was an alcohol induced sense, but he craved that bliss, that release from the pain of Mary's death, the release of having to worry about his children, and his job, and just his life in general. So, against his better judgment, John reached back into the fridge and gripped the six-pack that was perched on one of the shelves.

He knew that with every bottle, every new bottle he consumed, a memory here, a worry there, and they would all be gone, just like the night of Mary's death. John craved that, even if he knew his methods were wrong. The craving was far more powerful than the judgment he knew he should be wielding.

As John closed the door to the fridge and turned to drag himself into the living room, the picture of Mary, Dean, and Sammy fluttered free to the floor, unknown to John.

* * *

Dean woke up, yawning and stretching his stumpy six-year-old arms high above his head as he slipped out of his bed. Rubbing his sleep stuck eyes, Dean yawned again, soon turning it into a gasp as he stumbled over his toy truck that had been left haphazardly in the middle of his room. Mumbling, Dean nudged it out of the way with his foot and walked towards his door.

Dean reached up on his tiptoes and turned the knob with slight difficultly. He grunted with satisfaction as the door popped open, allowing him to exit into the hall. Trotting sleepily down to Sammy's room, Dean opened his baby brother's door and walked over to the crib. "Morning, Sammy," he whispered to the infant.

Ever since his mother died, his father had told Dean that Sammy was his responsibility. Which included getting Sammy out of his crib every morning, feeding him, and watching out for him. His father, thankfully, didn't make Dean do the whole diaper change she-bang. Dean had smelled some of those suckers and honestly, he was grateful. But that thought of his mother made Dean tear up a bit. The fire had scared him so much that he still woke up from nightmares with tears in his eyes. And because of the outcome, his mother was no longer there to hold him and stroke his hair and whisper that things would be all right. What he missed most of all was her promise that she whispered every night. Dean looked down at Sammy and whispered, "Angels are watching over you."

Dean continued to stare down at Sammy for a long moment before Sammy stirred and cooed in his little baby voice before he was even fully awake and squirming. Sammy's little voice snapped Dean out of his reverie and he looked down at his little brother, seeing instead of just looking now that he was back to full consciousness. Dean smiled down at little Sammy and laughed as his baby brother squirmed around in his crib, gnawing at his stubby fingers with gums that held little pearly teeth here and there.

"All right Sammy," Dean laughed. "Let's go get some breakfast!" Dean unhitched the side of the crib and guided it down so he could pick up his brother. Sam gave a little squealing baby laugh as Dean lifted him off the crib's mattress. Dean couldn't help but smile as well as he carried Sammy with him out into the hall. "Let's go wake Daddy up, huh Sammy?"

Dean walked into his father's bedroom and stopped short in the doorway. "Daddy?" Dean said softly. His father's bed was empty and the sheets were mussed and half thrown off the bed. "M-maybe he's downstairs, Sammy," Dean stuttered out, more for his own reassurance than Sam's, who was obliviously drooling all over himself. Dean started carefully down the stairs, peering around between the banister supports, trying to see through to the living room on the other side.

"Daddy?" Dean called again, louder this time. He spotted his father's bed head over the top of the armchair. His father answered him with a snore and Dean smiled in relief. "It's okay, Sammy. Daddy just fell asleep downstairs," he said to the baby in his arms. Sammy cooed at Dean as he carried his baby brother into the kitchen and placed him in his highchair.

"Okay, Sammy. I'll go and get your breakfast ready," Dean smiled at his brother. Sammy looked down at him from his chair, still gnawing at his fingers. "Try to be quiet for Daddy, okay Sammy?"

Not waiting for an answer he knew he wouldn't get from his two-year-old brother, Dean turned to go to the cabinets. Dean opened one of the floor level cupboards and pulled out a plastic bowl and set it softly on the counter. He then made his way over to the pantry to get out Sammy's baby food. The door gave a soft squeak of its hinges as it was opened, making Dean wince, praying that his dad wouldn't wake up. When, after a moments pause, Dean heard his fathers snore, Dean sighed in relief and looked up at the shelves. He spotted the breakfast food jars and stretched up to grab one. It was higher than it first appeared and Dean stood on his tiptoes, struggling to reach it.

Dean's fingers brushed against the jar, causing it to slide forwards towards the edge of shelf. Dean pushed his fingers between the gaps in the metal shelf, wiggling his fingers underneath the jar, egging it forwards. "Come…on" Dean grunted to the jar.

Dean gave a little jump to try and push the jar further forwards, but gave a bit to much effort, falling against the shelves with a slight clatter. At the same time, the jar pitched forwards and fell towards Dean. Before he could react, the jar fell past him and shattered on the ground, causing the contents to splatter across the clean floor and give off a resounding crash. Dean froze, lowering his hand slowly as he stared at the mess on the floor.

Dean and Sammy were quiet, both looking at the mess on the floor between them. Everything was silent; making Dean flinch because that meant his father was no longer snoring, no longer asleep. Dean's eyes slowly travelled up, away from the floor and tensed, finding his father's eyes boring into him from where he stood in the doorframe of the living room.

"Dean," his father said in a low, slurred tone. "What, happened?" John's sentences were broken and slow, his voice unsteady. John was leaning heavily on the wall, and his eyes were unfocused as he gripped a bottle in his hands.

Dean knew what this meant, he had seen his father like this before and he was trembling now, hoping that Sammy would stay quiet for his own sake. "I-I was trying to get a jar down from the shelf," Dean mumbled, trying to avert his father's drunken eyes.

John said nothing, waiting for more explanation. Dean swallowed hard and continued, still unable to look straight on at his father. "A-and I fell over when I was reaching for it and knocked it off the shelf. I-I didn't m-mean t-to. It was an accident. I'll clean it up. I promise!"

John remained silent, unmoving. Dean uncomfortably lifted his eyes to see if his father was upset. Dean winced, seeing a fire burning in the eyes of his dad. "I-I'm sorry I woke you up, dad," Dean said quietly.

It was then that John advanced on his oldest son. He crossed the kitchen unsteadily but swiftly all the same until he was towering over Dean. "You're damn right you better be sorry!" John shouted.

The next thing Dean knew, he was lying on the floor, the left side of his face feeling puffy and searing with pain like the fire of a brand. Dean cupped his cheek in his hand and blinked fiercely against the tears that were pricking at his eyes and threatening to fall down his cheeks. Looking up, Dean saw his father stumbling upstairs, grumbling drunkenly to himself.

Dean curled into a ball on the floor and tried not to sob. Sammy's whimpering brought Dean back to reality. Dean uncurled and pushed himself up to his feet, falling into the fridge for a moment when his head began to spin wildly. Dean stood leaning into the fridge, grounding himself with the solidarity of it. Dean then opened his eyes and pushed off the fridge, making his way over to Sammy who looked scared and had tears in his little eyes.

Dean smiled reassuringly down at his baby brother and picked him up out of the chair. "Everything's okay, Sammy. I promise. Daddy's just been drinking from his brown bottle again." Dean paused and looked over at the mess on the floor, exhaustion flitting across his green eyes. Dean turned back to smile again at Sammy and hugged his brother. "Mommy promised angels were watching over us and that includes Daddy too."

Dean felt Sammy's head lean into his shoulder and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the flaring pain in his cheek and the tears threatening to spill out. Dean let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes. "Okay, Sammy. I'm going to clean up this mess and get you some food," Dean said to his brother, putting him back in the highchair.

Dean cleaned up the glass shatters carefully, only getting a small cut on the tip of his finger. After all the glass was out of the way, he took a wet towel to the creamed vegetables that covered the kitchen floor in a sticky, gooey mess. Dean sighed as he tossed the towel into the trash and went back to fetch more baby food. Dean was extra careful about getting this jar down, his attempts successful this time around.

Dean reflexively dumped the food into the plastic bowl that sat upon the counter where Dean had left it and then walked over to Sammy to feed him. After Sammy had been fed, Dean cleaned up his brother, smirking at the stains and smears that covered Sammy's chubby little face and his bib. "Gosh Sammy, could you be any more of a hand full?" Dean said, affection thick in his voice. Sammy just looked up at his big brother and squealed in his baby-like way, his brown eyes big and bright. Dean chuckled and unhitched the tray from the highchair, pulling his brother down afterwards.

"Let's go get you dressed lil' man. Maybe we can go to the park!" Dean bounced Sammy in his arms and grinned down at the baby. "You wanna go to the park Sammy?" Dean asked in the sweet voice he saved only for Sammy. Sammy cooed and bounced with Dean, flapping his chubby baby arms in excitement.

"I guess that's a yes then!" Dean laughed, starting to haul the two of them up the stairs. Creeping quietly past his father's closed door, snoring emitting from the other side, Dean went into Sammy's room and changed him into proper clothes for the park. Dean smirked at his baby brother who cooed and crawled around the floor among his toys that littered the carpet. "Alright buddy, wait here and brother will be right back to get you."

Dean darted into his own room and tugged on a t-shirt and some shorts before going into the bathroom to brush his teeth and make sure his hair had its usual spike going on.

Dean exited the bathroom, starting towards Sammy's room, but he hesitated in his step, glancing over his shoulder at his father's door. Dean closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He walked slowly towards the closed door of his father's room, feeling like he was walking towards an adult who had caught him doing something wrong. He pushed open the door slowly, trying not to make it creak as he entered.

John was passed out, eagle-spread on the mattress, snoring deeply and sounding an awful lot like trucks downshifting on the highway. Dean stood at the side of the bed, barely peeking over the top at his dad. He grabbed his father's hand that hung limp over the edge and tugged gently on his thick, calloused fingers. "Daddy?" Dean said, fright causing his voice to crack slightly.

John looked up, bleary eyed with a slack expression. "Hm?" he muttered, obviously not awake. Dean swallowed forcefully and let out a breath.

"C-can I take Sammy to the park for a little while, Daddy?"

John remained in the same position, same slack expression before dropping his head back onto the bed and muttering consent before tousling Dean's hair. "Sure, sport," Dean made out through the mutters into the mattress.

Dean grinned, seeing that his father was recovering from his brown bottle trance. "Thanks, Daddy!" Dean whispered, knowing how his father hated loud noises after an episode with the bottle. Dean darted out of the room and decided to leave a note by his father's bed in case his father didn't remember their exchange.

Dean walked back into Sammy's room, laughing upon finding his brother trying to climb on top of one of his toy fire trucks. "Come on, Sammy! We're going to go play at the park while Daddy sleeps!"

Sammy, upon hearing Dean's voice, looked at his brother and then waddled over to Dean on his stumpy legs, cooing and holding his arms out to his big brother. Dean bent down and met his brother. Sammy's hand slid onto Dean's, their palms lining up. Dean looked down at their hands, his being able to fold over Sammy's tiny one. Dean's smile faltered as he looked at his innocent, cooing brother before him. His father could easily strike Sammy down as he did to Dean during an episode. And Dean knew that Sammy wouldn't be able to survive an attack like that. Dean raised his green eyes to meet Sammy's ignorant brown ones.

"Everything's gonna be okay Sammy. I promise I won't ever let him hurt you when he's like that. Never, ever."

Sammy simply cooed at Dean and waddled in place, eager to go to the park. "De!" Sammy said unsteadily. "De!"

Dean looked at his brother in shock. Sammy had never spoken before and now here he was, attempting his first word and it was Dean's name. Dean nodded, his eyes shining. "Yes, Sammy! That's right. Big brother, Dean," he accompanied with pointing a finger at himself.

"Bi brodder De!" Sammy mimicked, laughing childishly afterwards. Dean grinned and scooped up the two-year-old, tossing him into the air and then catching him on his way down, drawing a squeal and a fit of giggles from his baby brother. Dean laughed along with him and started down stairs, grabbing a house key of the table as he passed it to the door.

Dean paused in the doorway, looking around the house before he closed the door, thinking briefly of his mother and how she used to always take him and Sammy to the park on Saturday's like this. With a sigh, Dean shut the door and started towards the park with Sammy.

A warm breeze suddenly sprung up and brushed across Dean's cheek. Dean froze in his step, staring at the air around him with a mad desperation in his eyes. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, that brush on his cheek had felt the exact same way as his mother's caressing hand had. Dean shook his head after a moment, sadly admitting that it was impossible before he started for the park again.

But one thing kept bouncing around in his head. _Angels are watching over you._

_Mommy's an angel now…_

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! So this is my first SPN fanfic and I hope you guys like it! I got the idea from a line in one of the earlier episodes. I can't remember which one at the moment...anyways. R&R please! :)**


	2. Stranger

Arriving at the park, Dean set Sammy down on the grass and watched him toddle off towards the sandbox. Dean chuckled and followed his little brother, glancing around at the empty playground. It was a relief to Dean that the park was so empty. The people in Lawrence were gossip bloodhounds, and if they saw Dean's cheek with the bruise already forming and swelling, it would spread faster than a wildfire in a dry field. Dean already knew that people still whispered to themselves about the death of this mother, even if it was two years ago.

Sighing, Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and plopped down on the grass near the sandbox where Sammy was gleefully digging a hole in the middle of the sand, trying to find the bottom. Dean looked down at his feet, the long grass waving over his sneakers in the wind.

The wind stung his cheek where his father's hand had struck him. Dean's eyes pricked and his cheeks began to feel hot. Dean knew he could cry here since he was alone, but it was hard to not hold back. Dean had always held back for fear of presenting himself as weak and scaring Sammy. Sammy relied on Dean's strength and he knew it, so Dean had become accustomed to putting his own feelings aside and building up a wall to support his little brother by sharing his strength.

But now, his walls crumbled and hot tears streaked down his cheeks in long trails, dripping down into his lap and vanishing in the grass. Dean's vision began to blur and obscured his vision. The green of the grass became a blurred blob and his chest ached with unfulfilled sobs, longing to be set free, to escape the hold his lips formed. Dean sniffed loudly and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. He dragged the heel of his palm across his cheeks, wincing slightly at the searing contact on his left cheek from the bruise. Dean rubbed his eyes dry of tears and looked up at Sammy.

Sammy was still digging gleefully and obliviously in the rough sand, laughing every now and then as sand flew across the box when he threw it with his shovel. Dean smiled softly before looking back down at the grass around his feet. Dean liberated his hands from his pockets and reached out, gripping a blade of grass in between his fingers and yanking it forcefully out of the ground. He glared at it with all the hate he knew he needed to release. It was hard for Dean to be able to hold a grudge against his father when he knew the reason his father did these terrible things to him was because of the liquid in the brown bottle. Dean sighed through his nose and began to rip up the blade of grass, shredding the fragile plant into pieces. Dean reached for another blade of grass, glancing up at Sammy as he did so.

Dean's fingers froze around the blade of grass and his eyes swept across the scene in front of him. Dean's pulse pounded in his head, drowning out any other noises around him. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, fluttering like a trapped bird against his ribs. _Sammy…_Dean's mind raced.

Dean released the blade of grass and scrambled to his feet. "Sammy!" he yelled. Dean whipped around in a full circle; his eyes raking across the expanse of the park for his little brother's toddling form. "Sammy!" he shouted again, his voice cracking with desperation. "Sammy!" A warm feeling began to swell up behind Dean's eyes as the threat of tears began to overwhelm him. Dean's breath came short and fast as he rushed over to the sandbox, hoping that there would be footprints to show him where his brother had gone. As he reached the edge of the box, however, he stopped short, confusion taking over. The hole that Sammy had been digging dropped down farther than it should have, way farther. The hole extended down past where it should have ended at the bottom of the box, down into the earth. Dean scrambled over the wall of the sandbox and peered down the hole.

"Sammy!" Dean called down, relief causing his voice to break. At the bottom of the hole was Sammy, waving his shovel around triumphantly and laughing. But down there with him was another boy, one who Dean was sure he had never seen before and who had not been with Sammy the last time Dean had looked up.

Upon hearing Dean's voice, the boy looked up at him. The intensity of the boy's eyes made Dean's breath catch in his chest. The boy had short but slightly rumpled dark brown hair, almost the same color as the dirt he was sitting in. He wore a light brown coat and blue shirt with jeans. But what caught Dean's breath were his eyes. The boy's eyes were blue, the bluest blue Dean had ever seen in a human's eyes. There was no other color mingled there, just pure, bright blue.

Those eyes seemed to bore into Dean, reaching past his front and delving deep into his soul, into his mind, seeing everything Dean ever had and things even he had forgotten, or forced himself to forget. Dean felt exposed like he never had before, but no matter how hard he pulled, the boy's gaze held him fast and he was spellbound. Dean's breath quickened, as the world around him faded away and his vision became tunnel point on this one boy. Dean didn't know why this was happening, but there was something about this boy that captivated Dean like nothing else had.

Dean was suddenly snapped out of his reverie when the boy looked away. He only moved his gaze a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to break the intense connection that had formed between them like a storm about to break. Dean found himself scrambling backwards and breathing hard, his breath forming at his lips in the crisp air. Dean wiped at his forehead and upon removing his hand, he found it coated in sweat. Dean wiped his brow with his coat sleeve until it was dry. His heart still pounding, Dean looked around to see if anyone else had entered the park while this whole ordeal had been occurring. Thankfully, the park was empty.

Dean steadied his breathing and crawled to the edge of the hole again. Peering over the edge until he could see his brother and the boy again. Dean then hauled himself forwards until his arms and shoulders hung over the edge with his head.

"Are you two alright down there?" he called out, not knowing what else to do.

The brown-haired boy looked up and fixed Dean with his blue gaze again. This time, however, it was not as alluring, not as captivating. Dean wasn't sure if that was because he was used to the gaze now, or because the boy was holding back. Staring into the aqua depths of the boy's eyes, Dean went with the latter.

The boy couldn't have been much older than Dean, if at all, but there was still something, some aura about him that presented him as far past the maturity of a six-year-old.

The boy's voice yanked Dean from his thoughts with a swift jerking motion it felt like.

"Yes, we both appear to be in good condition." The boy's voice surprised Dean. It was the normal voice of a boy, higher than it would be once he was older, but still was touched with subtle hints of a gravelly undertone. The sound could be compared to a sweet melodic tune or a soft, distant roll of thunder. It entranced Dean for a moment too long and the boy tilted his head to the side, confusion painting his features.

"Are you all right?" the boy called in the hypnotizing voice.

Dean shook his head quickly, flinging the thoughts that danced across his mind, and then nodded in response, unable to find his voice. Dean cleared his throat and then responded in a pitched voice, "Yes, yes I'm fine."

Dean stabled himself mentally and then peered around the walls of the hole, trying to figure out how it had gotten here in such a small amount of time and so soundlessly as well.

"What happened? How did this hole get here?" Dean called down. The hole couldn't have been more than five feet deep but with the three boys being young and small, it seemed to be larger than it really was.

The boy locked eyes with Dean again, something that he did often Dean was learning, and tilted his head again. "I helped your little brother dig it," he said as if it were obvious.

Dean looked down at the brown hair boy and tried to detect a hint of amusement to show he was joking, but found none in the blue depths.

"You're joking. There's no way you could have dug this thing with that shovel in less than five minutes. What really happened?" Dean's voice held hints of exasperation, showing that he really just wanted a straight answer and then get his baby brother out of the hole.

The boy held Dean's eyes and responded, "I've told you what really happened. Your brother wanted a large hole to be dug for enjoyment so I willed it and it was done."

Dean looked at the boy skeptically. "Okay. Sure. Well, you think you could somehow will yourself and my brother out of this hole so I can take him home where he's safe?"

Dean's voice hitched slightly on the last word. _Safe_. Their house had not been safe in a long, long time. Not since Mary had died. Dean shook his head and looked back at the boy.

Dean was startled to find pity shining in his eyes. The boy looked at him and said, "Why do you lie? You know that anywhere but your house would be safer because of your father and his habit. You have done nothing to deserve the pain and torture that your father inflicts on you so that he may not bear it himself."

Dean stared down at the boy in complete and utter shock. How did he know about his dad? How did he know anything about him when they had never even met before? Dean's shock was soon overtaken by anger.

"Just get your butt out of the hole and bring my brother with you," Dean snapped.

Suddenly, Dean was staring down at an empty hole. He had blinked for a moment and the two were gone. Dean scrambled to his feet and whirled around, finding the boy placing Sammy on the ground carefully before looking at Dean.

Dean could do nothing but stand there, staring in slack jawed shock. Before he knew what was happening, the boy came up to Dean and reached out, his small hand moving towards Dean's face.

All of Dean's instincts told him to flinch, to duck, to run, anything to prevent getting hit again. But something stilled him. The boy's hand had no force behind it at all. He approached Dean as if he were approaching an animal that he was trying not to startle in case it bolted or retaliated. Dean simply stared at the boy who stared back at him with those alluring eyes. Everything seemed to pinpoint on one another's gaze, each locked firmly on the other.

The boy's hand moved ever closer to Dean's face, the short little fingers extending towards his cheek. Before Dean knew it, the coolness of the boy's fingertips was pressed against the stinging flesh of his bruised cheek. Dean was shocked by the gentle touch the boy possessed and his mind raced back to his mother's touch against his will, resurfacing the painful memories of when his mother would comfort him with a simple touch.

Dean lingered in the boy's contact for a fleeting moment before the reality of the situation caused him to jerk away quickly, his fingers coming up to touch his cheek protectively.

The little boy looked at Dean in confusion, his head tilting to the side once again. "Is there something wrong?"

Dean took a moment to recover his senses; the shock of being touched so gently had sent him reeling. Dean shook his head, clearing his mind before responding.

"Yes, there is. I don't know you, and that was not normal. I don't even know your name!" Dean was starting to become angry again with the boy. Who did he think he was?

The boy seemed to be pondering Dean's protests. He surprised Dean by nodding his head after a moment.

"I agree. We know nothing about the other it seems."

Dean, flustered, shook his head slowly. He no longer had any kind of grip on the situation.

"Dean," he finally said. "My name's Dean. Dean Winchester."

The boy nodded and started to walk away, touching Sammy's hair and ruffling it slightly as he passed the younger boy.

Dean walked over to Sammy and stared the back of the boy's receding figure.

"Wait!" he called out, causing the boy to stop but not turn around. "You never told me your name!"

The brown haired boy stood stone still for a moment, Dean looking at the back of his head, entranced by the slight curl of his dark hair. Dean began to wonder if he was ever going to get an answer from the boy when he finally turned slightly and locked Dean in that sapphire gaze again.

"Castiel," was all he said before turning back around and leaving the park.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this was so short and so long to wait for! I forgot to put in the last chapter that I'm going to be updating on Saturdays and Sundays for this. Anyways, hope you guys like this! R&R and ENJOY!**


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